Friday, 22 March 2013

Europe, the important stuff

When people in the US talk about visiting the monolithic pasta
eating, beret wearing, beer hall singing, flamenco dancing stereotype that they
perceive “Europe” to be, they often fall somewhere far short of capturing the
essence of the Europe that I grew up in and that I know and love. I’m sure I could
find a tour operator who would be willing to relieve me of thousands of dollars
and give me a whistle stop tour from a pint in Brighton to a Paella in
Barcelona if I wanted to but I’d be doing myself a disservice (for a start,
Paella isn’t Catalan, try arros negre). I’ve been lucky enough to ride my bike
and travel all over the world and I feel like that gives me a little
perspective on the continent which will always feel most familiar to me. Where I
can always slip back into being and be comfortable and not have to worry about
making some cultural faux pas. As much as I try to understand the USA I still
get things wrong mostly involving the ingrained puritanism which seems so
deeply rooted in the US culture and often lands me on the wrong side of some
harsh judgment for public nudity/drinking in the wrong place/ “swearing”. I’m
not saying I don’t offend people in Catalonia (just ask the taxi driver who
right turned me into the curb yesterday) but at least I do so intentionally.

In an attempt to facilitate intentional offence giving and
to cut off stereotypes at the pass, I thought I would dedicate the rest of this
blog to a back of the envelope guide to riding bikes, having fun and eating food
across the old world for those of you who find yourselves more comfortable in
the colonies.

England (not Britain,
England)

First up it’s important to remember that, by and large, we
swear at our mates and consider it a badge of affection, you wanker. Fortunately
there are some non linguistic clues to allow you distinguish between offensive
and amicable swearing:

Colouration: As a rule English
people’s skin colour ranges from “pallid” to “Pasty” apart from in August where
it occupies the “hi viz orange” to “vermillion” range. One can tell an enraged
punter from a more placid individual by the shade of red his face has turned as
the torrent of four letter language issues forth

Physical violence:. Pretty obvious
this one, fortunately we’re not that given to shooting each other but English
people do have something of a penchant for getting inebriated and brawling FYI,
a “Glasgow kiss” is administered to the nose with the forehead, and it’s not
generally a gesture of love towards the recipient

On another note, English people, and their nearest
neighbours share the alarming habit of shedding all non essential clothing once
the mercury hits about 15 degrees Celsius (60 Fahrenheit) so if you happen to
be in the UK on a day which is both cloudless and tepid or warer expect to
catch some flesh on display, complete with football club tattoos.

Secondly there’s the food. We’re a tea drinking nation and
we drink tea from dawn ‘till dusk. When arriving somewhere don’t be perturbed
if your host “nips off to put the kettle on”. Contrary to what you’ve been
told, there is plenty of great food to be had in England, you just have to seek
it out. American people, despite their love for hand held fatty foods are yet
to discover the Meat pie, I suggest you rectify this (Aussies have this one
covered). Any country which doesn’t have marmite hasn’t a leg to stand on as
far as criticizing anyone else’s cuisine goes. England is also the home to
mushy peas, baked beans (proper ones), decent bacon, marmite and tunnocks
caramel wafers.

Then there’s the bike riding, for a period of a fortnight
after every major (and by major I mean the tour or the Olympics) victory by a British
cyclist, expect to be treated like royalty. After this grace period expect
construction workers in white vans to take enormous pleasure in driving through
puddles in such a fashion as to get you very, very wet. You’ll probably be wet
anyway, it rains a lot.

France

The key thing to know about offending people in France is
that by the very fact of your presence you are offending them. Your evident
inferiority is an affront to the existence of republic and your pathetic
efforts to master their superior (and globally relevant) language are pitiful.
Despite numerous efforts you ALWAYS use “tu” where “vous” would be more
appropriate (the French are so preoccupied with this that they have a verb for “
to speak in the informal form of address”). As for specific offensive words and
gestures, anything you say will be regarded as completely unintelligible given
your woeful accent so it really doesn’t matter. Once you have embraced this and
become committed to causing equal offence in return I suggest winning premes in
nocturne races and the use of the two fingered gesture above as particularly
pointed weapons in your struggle against the nation which gave birth to a
thousand Napoleons.

There are some nice French people as well, they should be
cherished above all others as they have overcome a prevailing cultural tendency
towards being a total cock and chosen the righteous path of being decent human
beings. Case in point the Croix Rouge Francais and my Friends Marie and Jean. As
a rule, the further South one goes the less pointedly rude the people become.
Once in French Catalonia one is practically home free and, on occasion you even
see people smiling at your somewhat adorable linguistic overfamiliarity.

The French would have you believe that they eat better than
anyone but don’t be fooled. They love a good Mcdo (I believe France is the
second biggest market for the golden arches outside the land of the free) even
if they do eat it from a plate with cutlery. The snack of choice here is a
Jambon Beurre, not exactly helping you along the way to 5 a day this admittedly
quite delicious (depending entirely on the provenance of the jambon and the
beurre) snack consists of bread, ham and butter. On the positive side you have
fantastic pastry, decent (but not spectacular) coffee, ilky hot chocolate
served in a bucket for dunking the aforementioned pastry and a panoply of
cheese options. Bike racers can also enjoy the wealth of variations on brioche
de poche, pain d’epices and pates de fruits instead of sucking down semi solid
goop. And they should.

Bike riding in France is great, there are some wonderful
roads and fantastic scenery, generally
cars are pretty patient and drivers relatively polite. However this all changes
as soon as you pin a number on. Expect race announcers to give the entire peloton
a lambasting before, during and after the race in order to ensure that “le
rosbif” doesn’t have any chance of making off with enough prize money to buy
himself a pair of the ridiculously high socks that French riders seem to
favour. Also note that the officials here embrace the letter of the law with a fervor
last seen in the Spanish inquisition, at least up to the point when the rules
state that you can in fact legitimately race, at this point they employ a
xenophobia which rivals the aforementioned board of judgement. Oh and one more
thing, the French love racing bikes at night. And no, those are not fireflies,
those are cigarette butts that people in the crowd are flicking at you, no
really, they are.

Catalonia

If you wish to offend the Catalans you have a few options
open to you: 1) tell them how much you are enjoying being in Spain 2) Wear a
Real Madrid shirt 3) suggest that they are lazy, siesta taking peasants 4) ride
the wrong way down one way streets.

The Catalans are a proud and industrious nation, they don’t
take kindly to people conflating them with an Andalucian stereotype but in
general they are pretty hard to upset and, once you crack their slightly gruff
exterior they are the most friendly people on earth. Any effort at Catalan is
embraced with open arms, so try si us
plau

The food in Catalonia is fantastic, some of the best in the
world. Poor quality products simply don’t fly here. Catalan specials include
the tallat (a short coffee with a little milk) more sausages than you can shake
your sausage at, ensaimadas (like croissants but bigger and made with lard,
thus better in every way), the aforementioned arroz negre and a most delicious
garlicky olive oil based concoction known as al I oli. All of these are best
sampled at your local (and by local I mean within 500m of your home) café bar. It
might look dingy and dusty but everything is mad eby hand and with care, avoid
imported chains and it’s hard to eat badly here.

The bike racing is sadly on the wane. The organizers are
great, the cost is zero (yup it’s free) and the prize money decent. Expect to receive
a coffee and croissant on arrival and a sandwich afterwards. Sounds like a
dream come true, and it is but a less and less frequent one as the impending
crisis means that races are cancelled or turned into criteriums (which do not
tend to suit the Catalan approach to steering, at oen a couple of years ago we
had to stop racing when all the ambulances had been used up). The roads are my
favourite in all the world, they even have stepped-up shoulders on mountain
roads to allow you to sight the exit of a corner. I’m not going to tell you my
secret rides, because there ar every limited supplies of very yummy baked goods
at the top of very large mountains and I don’t want you getting them first.

Euskadi (the
Basque country)

I have yet to offend a Basque person, although I don’t own a
Real Madrid shirt. Every time I have raced in the basque country I have been
unable to purchase a meal, a hotel or a coffee. These are some of the most open
and welcoming people on earth. I stayed for a week with a total stranger who I met
when I turned up at a local cycling café to ask about the hq for the next day’s
race. He fed me like a king and subcontracted another chap I had never met to
motor pace me for 5 hours around the classica san Sebastian. That’s hospitality.

You eat well in the basque country as well, somewhat more
meat based than the rest of the peninsula, Basques love their pinxos (little
snack on a slice of bread) and xidre (cider poured from a huge ladel type
device). They are so exited about sharing their local produce that attempting
to order anything is a waste of time, find somewhere serving food and place
yourself at the mercy of the experts.

The bike racing and riding in the Basque country is great,
greener than Spain and mountainous with winding beautiful roads watched over by
old men in black berets. It’s the heartland of road racing in Spain and you can
expect 3 races a week, mostly over 150k and finishing in the middle of a large
town on closed roads. It’s the real deal though so don’t turn up fat and slow.

Spain

Again the Spanish are extremely welcoming, as Capt Mannering
advised “don’t mention the war” (same goes for Germany) and you’ll be fine.
Spanish people are pretty liberal in General (or hugely conservative in some
parts) and nudity, drinking ad swearing pop up with astonishing regularity in
the bigger cities. If you want to test people you might suggest some incredulity
at the cleanliness of Contador or Valverde, eat dinner before 9pm or demand to
know why everything is closed in the middle of the day. Eating on the street will attract some odd
looks too , sit down and enjoy your food. You’re not a horse and you shouldn’t
need a nosebag.

In Spain, perhaps more than anywhere else people live to
eat. Lunch is a prolonged affair taking up much of the afternoon . every café serves
a 3 course seasonal menu del dia based on market produce bought that morning.
Unlike the English speaking world this isn’t a bourgeois pretension but a universal
appreciation of the value of good food. Each region has its specialties but
Spanish ham is, in my opinion, the best in the world. Their fish is fantastic
and everything comes bathed in the most delicious olive oil (including the
people). Make sure to get a café con leche on the mornings you don’t partake in
the delicious hot chocolate, so thick you can stand a spoon in it.

Spain has tremendously varied terrain and cycling is very
popular. Cars give riders a wide berth and often horns are used to encourage
rather than enrage. Sadly the racing scene is dwindling thanks to the persistent
“crisis”

Flanders, not Belgium

The Flandrians are a wonderful and wonderfully honest people.
The most commonly used English phrase might just be “sell your bike” but the
second is surely “well done” and I’m pretty sure they only occur in this ratio
because of the amount of collateral damage inflicted by the brutally hard races.
It’s pretty easy to cause offence here, Belgian people are very honest and don’t
pull ay punches. If you come to Belgium to race, expect to race if you don’t try
your best don’t expect any respect. No excuses fly in Flanders

The flemmish manage to keep their spirits up in such a
bleak, rainy, windy landscape with baked goods. If you've never had a rijstart
your life is not complete. Frites from a frituur are the height of post race
indulgence (with mayo, natch) and carbonade is where beer and beef combine, so
it can do no wrong. They also eat horse, but then so, apparently, does everyone
else!

Cycling in Belgium is what football is to the UK and power
ranger rugby is to America. You see Tom Boonen selling razors and the entire
population of a town will turn out for a given Kermesse. I’ve written about
this before (here and here)so I won’t bore you again but it’s fu**ing awesome. Sadly it’s also
flat, wet, windy and cobbled and thus entirely unsuited to my limited
capacities turning the glass cranks on my bike.